


Three Kisses

by TiaLewise



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling, First Kiss, Ineffable Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Post-Canon, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 18:59:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19836520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: "Their first time, first proper time, it may have been, but to them it was an eternity worth waiting for. Who else could have possibly said they’d had 6,000 years to get to know each other? All to come together here, amidst satin and silk, darkness and light, forbidden indulgence willingly consumed. For there was only their side now – not Heaven’s, nor Hell’s."





	Three Kisses

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in years that hasn't been Yu-Gi-Oh and I've tried super hard not to make a colossal pig's ear out of it. Concrit is very much welcomed, please ignore me if I cry, I am a sensitive soul.

The first had been ironic. A joke, even – though, by design, angels didn’t generally believe in jokes. [1]

“Best get going…those plants aren’t going to scream at themselves.” Crowley brushed dust from his jacket as he stood. Imaginary dust, of course. Aziraphale never left a speck about the bookshop. “Come along, angel.”

Aziraphale closed a book and fitted it back onto its shelf. Not one had been sold that day. Just the way he liked it. It was quite amusing, really, to watch the way he guarded his shop’s wares. Surely there had never been a more loyal bodyguard in the history of bodyguards – or should that have been bookguards?

“You know,” he murmured, finger held up like a fresh idea popping into his head, “I heard tell that humans use that term with affection and intimacy. Quite marvellous, don’t you think?”

“What, ‘angel?’” Crowley snorted. “That’s what you’re hearing after 6,000 years?”

“I’m simply telling you a most fascinating titbit of trivia, dear boy.”

A devilish grin [2] crept onto Crowley’s face as Aziraphale turned to face him, meeting the demon’s gaze with his ever-present air of slightly befuddled candour. They met halfway, two of Aziraphale’s dainty steps for one of Crowley’s loping saunter, and they regarded each other a moment, or an eternity, before Crowley decided to Hell with it – he’d play along. His lips brushed over Aziraphale’s jaw, a whisper of teasing, of temptation.

“I’ll wait for you in the car, angel.”

_[1] Lucifer developed rather a fondness for the odd wise-crack, Crowley recalled. Heaven insisted the Morning Star had been expelled for his part in the uprising, but really, Crowley long suspected the Almighty simply got sick of being the butt of his jokes one too many times. He’d never asked. Lucifer was a rubbish drinking partner._

_[2] It would be peculiar to suggest that he could grin any other way, but never let it be said that Anthony J Crowley was anything short of a veritable basket of surprises._

✞♡✞

The second had been thankful.

Dining at the Ritz became a weekly event once Aziraphale decided to move in with Crowley at his flat. Strictly speaking, ethereal and occult beings required no sustenance, but they had tongues and taste buds, and rules were meant to be broken – especially when they involved Aziraphale and a slice of sinfully moreish red velvet cake.

“Oh…now, that was simply _delightful.”_ Aziraphale set his fork down primly and dabbed at his lips with his napkin. “What a treat.”

Crowley was content to simply watch. There had been food in front of him at some point - here today, gone tomorrow, as they said – he never noticed himself actually eating. Perhaps not a morsel passed his lips, discorporated into his stomach, or perhaps he ordered nothing at all. If his angel was eating, he never noticed.

“I suppose we should ask for the bill,” Aziraphale suggested.

Crowley waved a hand vaguely; the waiter approaching them suddenly felt the need for an impromptu cigarette break and walked away. “Already taken care of.”

“You and your little miracles.” Aziraphale tried to hide his smile behind his wine glass, and failed dismally.

Crowley tilted his head, a lopsided smirk twisting his lips. “What can I say? Everything’s a miracle after, oh, whaddya-call-it, Armageddon’t – Armageddidn’t – oh, anyway, we saved the world, angel!”

“We did.” Aziraphale smiled into his lap, twiddling his thumbs. “Quite the achievement, if I do say so myself.”

“Angel and demon, thwarting the ultimate wile of Heaven and Hell! What could be a bigger miracle than that?” [3] They were on the move now, Crowley gesticulating theatrically. “All the cake in the world couldn’t be better than that.”

“Oh, I might have to argue quite strongly,” Aziraphale giggled. With a quick sidestep, he pressed a kiss to Crowley’s cheek. “You know how I love my sweet treats.”

A warm fuzziness, that had nothing to do with the balmy evening air, enveloped Crowley’s skin. He turned, catching their gazes, powerful and impulsive even through the barrier of his sunglasses. “And you – ” he poked Aziraphale’s round nose – “are the sweetest treat of them all.”

_[3] No doubt Agnes Nutter had a prediction to answer that, but Anathema was picky about who was privy to her filing system. The one and only time Pepper got into the box, she’d gotten muddy fingerprints on the cards, and Anathema’s subsequent fury had Pepper reconsidering her entire stance on girl’s activities._

✞♡✞

The third had been about damn time.

Aziraphale knew of sleep, knew that for humans it was a requirement to sustain life. But he was an angel; more specifically, an angel who would rather sink into a good book than submit to several hours of wordless nothingness.

He did own a lovely pair of tartan pyjamas, however, and Crowley’s bed was a very comfortable place to settle down, armed with a cup of cocoa, his latest literary love, and Crowley himself. His demon was a great fan of snoozing – he was rather proud of having slept through almost the whole 19th century - and an even bigger fan of their new slumber party arrangement. In fact, he was currently lying more on Aziraphale than the mattress, not quite asleep, but more so than he was awake.

He mumbled something half-formed and incoherent into Aziraphale’s chest, and the angel glanced down from his book, eyebrows raised slightly. “What was that?”

“Ngh…said to…” Crowley yawned, unashamedly nuzzling, “c’m to bed…”

“But I _am_ in bed, dear boy. You seem to be using _me_ as a bed right now.”

Crowley cracked open one scintillating yellow eye. “You’re missing out, angel.”

Aziraphale turned a page slowly. “Your demonic powers of temptation shall not work on me this night. This novel is simply captivating and I do not plan to put it down.” He twisted then, to reach for the cocoa sitting on the nightstand.

Crowley snapped his fingers. The book vanished from Aziraphale’s grasp. [4]

The angel sighed heavily. “Well, really, all you had to do was ask.” He sipped his cocoa, then put the mug aside. “I trust you will give it back to me?”

“Eventually. Couple of hundred years, give or take.” Crowley’s forked tongue slipped out as he grinned.

“You are a wicked, deceitful creature, darling.”

“Mm, talk dirty to me, angel.”

Another sigh, and then Aziraphale combed his fingers lightly through his demon’s hair, smiling at the low hiss of contentment that he uttered. “So, I believe we must say goodnight.”

“Mmhm.” Crowley’s eyes had closed again, so he didn’t see when Aziraphale’s free hand reached out, plump fingers trembling – the yellow orbs shot open again at the touch to his cheek, just in time for the angel’s lips to cover the demon’s.

Their first time, first proper time, it may have been, but to them it was an eternity worth waiting for. Who else could have possibly said they’d had 6,000 years to get to know each other? All to come together here, amidst satin and silk, darkness and light, forbidden indulgence willingly consumed. For there was only their side now – not Heaven’s, nor Hell’s.

Crowley had to wipe his eyes when they finally broke apart, though he would deny the pooling tears till the day his Bentley stopped transforming his cassettes into “Best of Queen.”

“Goodnight, Crowley.” Aziraphale gave him another kiss for good measure.

“Goodnight, angel.” Another kiss…just to be sure.

_[4] One could never be too sure where all the objects vanished over the years ended up. Some say that there are piles upon piles of miscellaneous objects lying forgotten by the Mersey – others say, with much mirth, that they’re just looking at Liverpool._

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
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